Ginny had said everyone could see how perfect we were for each other, and I wanted to see if that was true. No, I needed to see if it was true.
I sat back and let my hands fall into my lap. I needed it because I really loved him. The admission reverberated in my chest like a heavy bell. I loved Penn, no matter who he was.
I scrambled for my phone and finally punched the number I had been itching to dial for weeks. It started rigging and my nerves jumped. As I waited and wondered if he would pick up, I sat back down and scrolled through the charity ball photographs.
There was Xavier and Alice arm-in-arm. I couldn't resist and took a detour to read about their reconciliation. There were great stories about Alice's brave fight against cancer and Xavier's loving support. Then there were speculations about their upcoming wedding. And every picture showed the two of them smiling.
"Hello?"
My breath fled my body, then I realized that Penn probably did not recognize the number I was calling from. I struggled to say anything, to tell him who I was, but he seemed to guess.
"Corsica?"
My hand fluttered over the cursor and suddenly a whole new crop of photographs appeared. Penn with his arm wrapped around Alicia, posing for the cameras. It must have been taken just minutes after I had left to mingle on my own. Those minutes had been excruciating for me, and here he was with a bright smile and a beautiful, rich woman on his arm.
His equal, I thought and hung up the phone. How could I ever be with someone who didn't view me as an equal?
The problem, I thought as I dragged myself to bed, was that I didn't even know where I belonged.
#
I had never used the word “smarmy” before, but it was the only way I could describe the bartender. His smile never quite reached both sides while his eyes swept far too low every time he looked at me. Still, I thought, if I was going to find out where I belonged, maybe I needed to start at the bottom.
I shifted my weight and heard the gummy suction sound of my shoe pulling off the black-painted concrete floor. The little basement jazz club was dark with sticky floors and questionable clientele. But the music was good.
The next set started up and brought a wave of relief. When the music was playing, the attention was off me and my particularly out-of-place dress. The simple dress was straight off the rack at some big box store, but it fit so perfectly it could have been couture. I regretted every clinging curve of it as the bartender's eyes swept back to me.
"Another drink for the lady?" he oozed over to stand in front of me.
"Make it two." Ginny popped up next to me, and I wrapped her in a long hug. "Well," she giggled, "either you've gone to the next extreme or you really want him to think you play for the other team."
"I don't care. I'm just glad you came." I snapped up our drinks and headed for a little, round table in the corner. "I needed someone else's take on this place."
Ginny eyed her chair, shrugged, and sat down. "A little out of the way, a little dark, and a little, ah, sticky," she shifted in her seat, "but the music sounds good."
"Right?" I sat down and concentrated on the jazz trio. They had a loose and funky interpretation of the classic songbook, but I liked their style. If my drink slid down my throat too fast, it was just because I was wrapped up in the music. It had nothing to do with erasing that photograph of Penn from my mind.
How could he have smiled like that minutes after our whole connection fell apart?
"Corsica?" Ginny's soft voice broke into my thoughts. "You realize you're singing along, right?"
"Am I off-key?" I asked, with a jaunty smile.
"No," she said, slipping my almost-drained glass away from me. "It's just I don't think this band intended to have a singer tonight."
"They should," I said. Why was my voice so loud? Maybe it was just in my own ears. "I could sing for them. Maybe I should sing for them."
"Maybe you should shut up," a woman two tables over snapped.
"And, maybe you should mind your own business." I felt my eyebrows clash together in a tight frown. Maybe that was why there was a faint throbbing pain starting in my head. "I'm just trying to follow my dream here. You got a problem with that?"
"Maybe you should get your friend under control," the woman told Ginny.
I snorted. "Can you believe her? Bet she's all straight-laced and nine-to-five. Can you believe I ever wanted to be like that? Yuck."
Ginny looked worried. "Let's talk about that," she said in a soft voice, "quietly while everyone else enjoys the music."
"Music without singing. I could totally sing this song," I announced. I tried to stand up, but my feet didn't get the idea. The floor's too sticky, I thought.
"Let the lady sing along, if she wants," the drummer called out with a wink. "She can right up here and sit on my lap, if she wants to."
Ginny locked a hand on my arm and didn't let go until the set was over. Then, she relaxed just a bit and I slipped free. Instead of heading for the stage, as she feared, I gestured to the bar and headed that way. Ginny joined me, and by some amazing silent stare, convinced the bartender not to serve me another drink.
"Come on, Gin," I giggled. "I thought you wanted me to let go. I thought you wanted me to work on being a singer in a place like this."
"Not exactly how I pictured it," she said.
"It ain't no good life, but it's my life," the drummer said as he sidled up to join us.
I poked a finger in his chest. "I know that song. Ella Fitzgerald sings my favorite arrangement."
"So you really are a singer?"
Ginny leaned over and gave him a fierce look. "She's just considering it. So we're exploring the places around here."
The drummer took off his bowler hat and scratched his shaggy hair. My heart flipped as the wild tangles reminded me of Penn. "Well, if this place ain't your style, I could give you a few suggestions."
Ginny politely wrote down the clubs and bars that the scruffy musician suggested. Then, she clamped a tight hand on my elbow and steered me to the door. "What has gotten into you?" she asked when we climbed outside into the fresh night air.
"What do you mean?"
"You're nearly drunk. You're hanging out in a seedy little hole with musicians that look as if they might live on the street. Are you telling me that's what you envision the rest of your life is going to look like?" Ginny hauled me to the street corner.
I pulled back. "I might have to get used to it. If I refused to find a job that utilizes my college degree, then I'm starting at the bottom. I can work my way up."
"Fine," she huffed. "I can respect that. But will you finally tell me what is making you so crazy? I know he hasn't called–is that what's bothering you?"
I buried my face in my hands as the sidewalk started to spin. The two strong drinks I had before Ginny arrived to save me were swirling through my head to fast. "No. I don't want him to call. I don't want to talk to him ever again. You know I saw them together?"
"Who?" Ginny asked.
"Penn with that perfect heiress. All smiles and a perfect pose plastered all over the high society websites. He's with her. He probably always wanted to be with her."